In this raw, sardonic, and strangely uplifting solo rant, Mookie Spitz revisits his own metamorphosis from a self-flagellating perfectionist to a liberated creator. Framed through the lens of Franz Kafka’s existential nightmares, The Cockroach as Critic is part homage, part exorcism, and part manifesto for late-life reinvention.

Mookie draws parallels between Kafka’s bureaucratic dread and the generational trauma of growing up under a father who weaponized criticism. Through his signature dark humor and biting introspection, he reads a short story he wrote decades ago: a twisted inversion of The Metamorphosis, where a talking cockroach becomes the voice of his own inner saboteur. What begins as absurd comedy spirals into something eerily honest: a meditation on isolation, self-critique, and the trap of confusing suffering with creativity.

But this isn’t a pity party, instead a declaration of freedom. Mookie grinds that cockroach — literal and psychological — underfoot and reclaims joy in creation. The episode becomes a celebration of rebirth as the artist learns to share, to give back, to enjoy his output without apology. Kafka’s hunger artist finally eats.

Along the way, expect rants about Max Brod’s betrayal (or salvation), the absurdity of self-importance in art, the emotional cost of perfectionism, and a surprisingly tender reflection on fatherhood and gratitude. By the end, Mookie connects his late-life creative surge to something universal: that the “metamorphosis” isn’t about decay, but about finally hatching into yourself.

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In this blistering solo rant, Mookie Spitz takes the 2025 Nobel Prize for Literature and turns it into a mirror for every would-be artist, procrastinating perfectionist, and self-styled “creative” who talks more than they make. Trigger warning for your inner hack: this one hurts.

From Laszlo Krasznahorkai’s single-sentence novels to Picasso’s 50,000 pieces of relentless output, Mookie dismantles the myth of “someday” artistry — the fantasy that genius waits for perfect conditions. He drags the coffee-shop philosophers, the pandemic-era Zoom posers, and even his past self — the guy who mistook talking about art for doing it.

This 64th Bald and Bloviating episode is part confession, part sermon, part flamethrower. Mookie draws lines between the ease-poisoned world of AI art and the sweat-stained grind of real creation, between the sous-chef’s burn scars and the diner’s luxury, between heaven and hell as two rooms divided by one thin wall. The verdict? If you’re not bleeding for it, you’re probably bullshitting.

A Picasso...

• Works daily — even when uninspired, broke, or ignored.
• Creates out of compulsion, not validation.
• Finds joy in the process, not the applause.
• Welcomes discomfort as proof that something real is happening.
• Treats art like labor — a grind, a calling, a job you can’t quit.
• Doesn’t wait for “the right time” or “perfect idea.” They make time.
• Knows that meaning comes during the work, not before it.

An Assho'...

• Talks about creating more than they actually create.
• Mistakes taste for talent, and intellect for output.
• Hides behind perfectionism — “It’s not ready yet.”
• Curates the appearance of artistry instead of doing the work.
• Thinks inspiration is earned by thinking, not doing.
• Quits when applause doesn’t come fast enough.
• Believes effort should be easy — that creation shouldn’t hurt.

Which are you?

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In this 63rd episode of Bald and Bloviating, Mookie Spitz peels back a decade of intertwined ambition, friendship, and ideology that runs from Toronto brainstorming sessions to New York WeWorks beer taps to the editorial suites of CBS News.

Starting with Barry Weiss’s meteoric rise from Substack renegade to corporate media powerhouse, Mookie rewinds to 2015 to trace his own improbable web of connections: Ali Rizvi, the doctor-musician op-ed writer; Faisal Saeed Al-Mutar, the Iraqi refugee who built Ideas Beyond Borders; and his cofounder Melissa Chen, the provocateur-intellectual whose incendiary tweets landed her on Joe Rogan and in the orbit of media’s new ruling class.

But the beating heart of this episode is Mookie’s volatile, funny, and deeply human friendship with Faisal — a relationship that swung between mentorship and dependency, affection and exhaustion. Half Wayne's World bromance, half De Niro–Keitel in Mean Streets, theirs was a 95/5 friendship: one man giving, the other consuming, both feeding on the electricity of shared trauma and manic humor. Late nights in Brooklyn bled into philosophical brawls, metal shows, and endless laughter — until it all collapsed under ego, fatigue, and the unspoken truth that one was always performing for the other.

Their story is of mentorship gone sideways, of PR ideals colliding with post-truth branding, and of the uneasy blend of altruism, ego, and spectacle that powers modern advocacy. Mookie dissects how social capital morphs into moral capital, how contrarians become institutions, and how even the most self-aware blowhard can find meaning in being both gardener and plant.

Equal parts confessional memoir and cultural autopsy, this episode delivers wit, candor, and uncomfortable honesty about fame, friendship, and the shifting moral gravity of our media age.

In the end — as Vonnegut wrote — so it goes. Every movement becomes mainstream, every outsider becomes establishment, and every friendship, however electric, burns itself into a kind of truth that can only be told after the smoke clears.

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